


Must've Been The Wind

by stylesharrys



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016), Stranger Things RPF
Genre: Angst, Billy is stuck in the Upsidedown, Bring tissues, F/M, Song Inspired, Stranger Things 3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-02
Updated: 2019-10-02
Packaged: 2020-11-15 05:41:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20861159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stylesharrys/pseuds/stylesharrys
Summary: He’s dead, you’re sure… it’s what you saw. But maybe those subtle touches against your skin and taps against your bedroom window aren’t really the wind.





	Must've Been The Wind

Waking in a fit of tears is nothing you’re new to, but it still sparks that sinking heartache in your chest as your stomach churns and twists.

Waking in a cold sweat and panting for breath has become the norm for you, but it doesn’t make it easier. Doesn’t make it any less painful, any more _bearable_.

There’s nothing left for you to try to prove. People _know_ you’re not okay, and you’ve given up trying to hide the soul-shattering pain you feel.

This morning is no different. It’s 2:49 a.m. when you scream yourself awake. Your family have learnt to sleep through your night terrors after sixteen months of them. You haven’t, though.

You take a moment to catch your breath, to hold onto that glimmer of his face that haunts your dreams. Maybe that’s why you can’t get over them. Maybe you’re scared that you’ll stop seeing him, that you’ll really lose him forever.

If you let go, he can’t visit you in your dreams, even if it is just his unbearable death every other night… or his touch on your skin before he’s abruptly torn from your hold.

You take in your surroundings, the soft moonlight shining through the sheer fabric of your curtains and dimly illuminating your room.

The raindrops kiss your windowpane, enveloping the glass in their pelting embraces and you find yourself envying it. You miss his lips, the way they’d guide you to the light, caress and soothe your deepest pains.

Everything hurts and you want it all to stop. It’s like being buried beneath an avalanche. An inescapable icy doom that holds you to the ground. It’s suffocating and your air is gone.

You sit up in the cold bed, wiping the tears away and reaching over for a tissue on your nightstand. Through your hazy eyes, you grasp the photo frame instead, another haul of tears brimming over the edge.

You can’t look at it, not again. You made the mistake of looking last night, which resulted in you crying yourself to sleep. That stupid picture, of his stupid face and his stupid lips on your cheek.

You should take it down, you know that. You need to heal, to move on. But putting the photo away means putting _him_ away and you won’t _ever_ be ready for that.

Tears trickle down your cheeks as you sniffle, shifting in the bed and reaching for your lamp, switching it on. The room illuminates in soft orange hues and you snuggle into your shirt—_his_ shirt.

It lost his scent a long time ago, and the second it did, you found yourself at the mall, purchasing that cheap cologne he always wore and sprayed it on everything you owned.

It brings you comfort still, a feeling of safety, even after everything. It feels like the way his arms would wrap around you, and you swear sometimes you can feel his featherlight lips brush against your neck.

You shiver, shaking your head. The rain continues to drown the night as a soft tapping on your window echoes around your room.

Your heart skips a beat.

Billy used to do that; sneak up to your room when your parents were sleeping and gently tap on your window. It sounds all too like him but he’s gone.

A few seconds pass and the tapping returns, light and rhythmic and you decide maybe it isn’t just the rain. You rise from your bed and slowly pad to the window, gently pushing your curtains aside and you’re met with a tired reflection of yourself.

With somewhat trembling hands, your fingers pinch the lock and twist, gently pushing the window open and a gust of warmth embraces you, almost knocking you off your feet.

Your heart stammers as the warmth subsides and the coldness of the night replaces it, goosebumps riddling your skin as the rain continues to pour.

With furrowed brows, you close the window and curtains, padding back to your bed for the warmth. You snuggle into Billy’s shirt, bringing the fabric to your nose and inhaling the scent he once held.

You reach for the book on your nightstand, knowing sleep won’t come again for you and take you away from the numbing emptiness you feel.

You open your tagged page, reading over the first line on the tear-stained page. You used to read to Billy, late at night after seeing every inch of each other. His head would rest on your stomach and you’d tangle your fingers in his blond locks as you read L. J. Smith to him.

You miss it. The weight of his head in your stomach, the soft breathing and quipped remarks about how vampires _aren’t real_. You miss the kisses he’d press to your hand and the way his thumb would circle your hip as it peaked through the bottom of your shirt.

You try to focus on the words on the page, but it’s no use. You’re about to give up and just cry yourself to sleep again when a sinking feeling sits on your stomach with loving warmth and you freeze.

You feel the weight rest on your tummy, the warmth of breath on your skin and your heart thumps. The window’s closed. _It’s not the wind. _

You place the book down with wide eyes and trembling hands, shifting ever so slightly and your bottom lip quivers. _It can’t be_. “Billy?” you breathe, silent tears raining down your cheeks and it only feels warmer.

“Billy?” you sniffle again. “Baby, is that you?”

You feel stupid, completely and utterly _ridiculous_, calling out for your dead boyfriend in the middle of the night. But you remember Joyce, how everyone thought she was crazy when Will went missing, but her gut instinct was _right_. 

“Billy?” you whisper out.

The lights flicker and your radio flicks on, switching stations and static fills your ears. You raise from the bed, reaching closer to the radio on your dresser and the lights flicker again like a horror movie. 

Your eyes are wide and hopeful, heart leaping in your chest and all at once, the power goes out and everything falls cold around you. “Billy?” you croak.

He watches you from your window, eyes brimming with salty tears and he just wants you to hear him, to know that he’s here.

It kills him, to watch you grow so out of control. Your once bubbly personality is replaced with dull boredom. Your eyes don’t sparkle and your smile is a rarity. The last time he heard you laugh was the night before he died, and it’s killing him all over again to watch you suffer.

A knock on your bedroom door sounds through the room and you rush to it, swinging it open with all the mighty hope you can muster up, but your shoulder sags as you see your Mom’s tired face before you. 

“Powers out,” she tells you simply. 

You nod your head. She looks past you, frowning and rushing into the room and she holds her gown tighter around her body. “Jesus, Y/N… did you not lock your window?” she shrieks quietly. 

You frown as you notice the open glass. You did lock it, you know you did. “Guess not,” you mumble, voice hazy.

She catches the lock and closes the curtains. “Must’ve been the wind, darling,” she yawns, wandering past you and kissing your cheek as she does so. 

He watches you closer, face barely an inch from yours and his hand reaches to touch your face, to remind you that he’s really here, but you turn away and close the door behind her.

“Yeah,” you mumble to yourself, eyes glued to the floor as your body welcomes the numbing emptiness again and hope leaves your body.

Billy drops his hand and takes a step back as you purse your lips, tears slipping from his eyes. “Must’ve been the wind.”


End file.
